


Into the Dark

by iihappydaysii



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Choking, Dark Character, Don't Like Don't Read, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Gore, Horror, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Nipple Play, Power Dynamics, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Smut, Vore, demon!John, witch!claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: When Jamie finally ends things with Laoghaire, he decides to pursue, the woman of his dreams, Claire Beauchamp, but there is one thing he must do first.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Claire Beauchamp/Lord John Grey, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 23
Kudos: 40
Collections: Lord John Trick-or-Twink Spooktacular 2020





	Into the Dark

Jamie had never been in a gay bar before. He wasn’t even sure why he was in one now. Only that he’d broken up with Laoghaire— _finally—_ and the gasp of freedom he’d taken after it was over had led him here. He’d expected it to lead him Claire Beauchamp’s front door and it would tomorrow. But tonight, there was something he needed to get out of his system. Something he needed to close the book on, so he could love this woman the way he knew he always would from the moment he’d set eyes on her.

But, here he felt uniquely out of place. Here where he was surrounded by the sound of music he hated and the smell of sweat and semen. Jamie approached the bar and ordered a beer from a male bartender in a crop top. He almost expected a weird look from the man for his order, but the bartender just poured the Guiness and moved on to the next patron.

As he sipped his beer, Jamie managed to fend off several wanna-be suitors with well-timed grunts and the stench of his construction job. Laoghaire’s jealous antics had cost him all the better jobs he’d ever had, leaving him only with work he was over-qualified for that employed few or no women. There had been no women, until the day Claire. Beautiful, perfect Claire, his company’s new health and safety advisor.

His thoughts were on Claire when a man set beside him. A man wearing a watch that certainly cost more than Jamie’s annual salary. He was small, yet still obviously firm, strong. His suit was immaculately tailored and he smelled like money and weekends on the Riviera or some shit. He had a strong jaw and soft eyes.

Jamie shifted on his stool and took another gulp of his beer. He kept waiting for the man beside him to say anything, but he only ordered a glass of wine and kept silent. So silent, it left Jamie uneasy enough that he just had to say something, goddammit.

“So, wine huh?” Jamie said with a tilted smile. He had no earthly idea what he was doing.

The man turned towards him and flashed a smile. “First time?”

Jamie let out an awkward laugh. “How can ye tell?”

The man took another sip of his wine, then let his eyes drift over Jamie. His learned instinct was to attack a man who looked at him like that. If he was angry that emotion was big enough that it swallowed everything else up. Everything he was always told he shouldn’t be feeling. For some reason though, tonight, he didn’t let that anger wash over and control him, he just let it wash over and fall away.

Jamie was doing this for Claire, so he could commit himself to her fully, without any what-ifs. She was worth it. The future he could see in her eyes was worth it.

“Oh.” The man laughed. “I have my ways.”

A few moments of silence passed between them before Jamie found himself speaking again. “I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“John,” the man replied, putting out a hand. “John Grey.”

Jamie pulled his hand away from his beer and took Grey’s into his own. Something shuddered through him. Normally, he’d call them sparks, but the sensation was headier, darker than anything he could remember in his experience.

“May I buy you another beer?” Grey asked.

“By the looks of that watch ye’ve got on, ye could buy me a whole brewery.”

. . .

The tiles of the bathroom wall felt cold against the palm of Jamie’s hand. When he’d followed John Grey in here, it had been with the intention that Grey would be the one on his knees and yet, here he was—face to face with a glinting belt buckle, with Grey’s nimble fingers as he unbuckled it.

Before he knew it, a tip of a cock was brushing against his lips.

Jamie hesitated, then the want was too much, and he gave into it, opening his mouth and letting this attractive stranger fall heavy on his tongue.

He’d never given head before, but he’d had it done to him enough times that he could figure it out easy enough. Then, there was nothing to do but to give in. To taste. To feel, to let out small noises of want, to whimper at the pressure in his throat. Just give in and take and let everything in the world and his life fall away like rubble until there was nothing left but the giving in after years and years and— _God, yes,_ he also liked pussy and soft, warm breasts, but this was good too—even here with this handsome stranger in this hideous bathroom breathing in the stale stench of urine cakes.

Grey’s hand gripped his hair tight as he grunted and came, filling Jamie’s mouth, leaving it hot and sticky and giving him no choice but to swallow it down into his belly.

With a heavy breath, Grey stepped back, carding a hand through Jamie’s hair.

“My pet was right. You’re perfect.”

 _Pet? What the fu—_ Jamie meant to say it aloud, but he found no words came out of his mouth. Numbness spread through him like tendrils growing from his stomach and spiraling out through every inch of him.

He tried to speak. Nothing.

Tried to stand. Nothing.

To do something. Anything. Nothing.

A panic unlike any he’d known crushed down on Jamie, followed by the thought that he may never see Claire Beauchamp again, and then, so did total darkness.

. . .

The world returned to Jamie Fraser in blurred flashes. An ornate room, like something out of another time. Candlelight. Exquisite silk sheets. John Grey— _fuck that bastard_ —and a warm, wet tightness on his cock.

_Was it him, was he…?_

But, no, even in the blurriness Jamie knew Grey was too far away. It couldn’t be Grey touching him.

Jamie was fucking someone else. Someone he couldn’t make out yet, as it was more difficult to see up close, than far away.

Jamie shouldn’t want to be here. Shouldn’t enjoy the tightness and the heat, but the pleasure was so fire-hot, so exquisite that it was nearly enough to shove away the panic and fear. Nearly enough that he didn’t want to run.

Not quite enough though, so he did _try._ He tried to kick or scream or move, and yet he still couldn’t do any of it. Jamie could tell he was still dressed, his jeans and boxers hand been tugged down but were around his knees and his shirt simply pulled up to his neck. He was dead weight, conscious, vision returning to him, but still frozen here. The only part of his body he could feel was his warm, throbbing cock.

The creature on top of him, who or whatever she was, was distinctly female. Soft curves, delicate bouncing breasts adorned with pert, pink nipples. Deliriously, he wished he could reach out and pinch them or take them between his teeth.

Long, dark curls cascaded over her shoulders. _Long, dark, familiar… curls._ Ones he’d dreamed of touching countless times.

The blurriness had gone completely now, the vision before him crystal clear.

There she was. Jamie could scarcely believe it, but the woman riding him now was the woman from the market. Claire, he remembered, Claire Beauchamp. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and now she was on full display for him, letting him fill her up. Moaning and grasping at one of her breasts. Her head titled back, exposing the long line of her neck, the arch of her body so deep that her hair skimmed his shins.

At the far side of the room, John Grey was stark naked. The cock he’d had in his mouth earlier was erect again, dripping on the hardwood as he stroked it with one hand and sipped red wine with the other.

Claire cried out Jamie’s name, and somehow, unbelievably, he called out her too, “Claire,” he managed. The primal want of her now strong enough to keep the fear at bay.

Jamie had no words for the newness burning inside him, growing and blossoming between them. He only knew it was bigger than him. Powerful—unspeakably so. Divine or sinister, he did not know yet and his care to know had been lost as well.

“Oh, God,” he said, again surprised at his ability to form words.

Claire fell forward, nails digging into the flesh of his chest. Her breath skimmed over his lips. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, worship me.”

Jamie Fraser was Catholic, born and raised. He knew better and yet… “Claire,” he cried out. “Ye feel like… everything.”

“I am,” she said, hot-as-fire in his ear.

Claire clinched around him and let out a shout of ecstasy that trembled the mirrors on the wall. Jamie shouted too, bucking up into her, spilling and spilling and falling away and away as if he had stepped off a tall cliff, careening towards black ocean waves.

So enraptured with this unique and unparalleled pleasure, Jamie failed to notice the impossible happening. Failed to notice his body contorting in natural ways. Failed to notice the vision of the room around him slipping away, returning him to darkness. For a moment, he thought the drugs or whatever had happened to him earlier had take hold again, but no… he remained conscious mind clear. Able to move… except, something soft and wet and warm squeezed down him, a cocoon of flesh that smelled of a woman.

He tried to kick, but his legs were held down.

Tried desperately to move his arms, to claw at the flesh, cause pain so he could escape. He managed to do nothing, but move slightly forward, cheek now pressed to a creamy white that tasted like himself but pooled around him like buckets of blood. He craned his neck up, struggling not to breath it into his lungs.

Jamie thought he might be on his knees, but it was hard to tell. He struggled to understand his body at all under the circumstances. He felt his face and arms were small as a housecat, but his thighs and arse hadn’t been affected yet by this devious magic.

The sensation of a hand on his backside, made him yelp and inhale a mouthful of his own seed. He spat and sputtered as that hand, rough and masculine, moved down, between his cheeks and pressed in. Slick. Tight.

It felt _incredible,_ but Jamie tried to move away out of sheer surprise, but he was stuck there in the vice of Claire’s body.

Then, the sensation grew fuller, tighter. Two fingers probably. Two fingers, twisting and writhing and finding places deep inside that made him shudder and try to push back for more. What was wrong with him? What was happening?

Then, Jamie felt John Grey’s thighs press against him. Then a prick, pushing, pressing, and all at once, it filled him. Fucked him. Grey was rutting into him like a wild beast, every single thrust hideous and intoxicating at the same time. His pleasure couldn’t be building again, but it was, and the concept of what was possible and what was not had been lost to Jamie anyway.

There was only the being taken.

Then, there was a coursing high of pleasure and the sensation of falling _somewhere, somehow,_ shrinking, until all of him was something you could hold in two hands.

As the high ebbed, Jamie laid there, nestled in flesh like a hammock, alone and in the dark and trying to breathe.

“Was he good, Master?” Claire’s familiar voice asked. Jamie was surprised he could hear it so clearly. His heart clinched at the emotion in her voice, the _love_ in it as she said master.

“One of the better ones,” Grey mused. Then, Jamie felt a pressure against his side and back and, in a way, he didn’t understand he felt he was being cradled by John’s hands on Claire’s stomach, as if he were an unborn child.

“I’ll have you now,” Grey added with a tone of nonchalant grace.

“Yes, Master.”

Jamie felt Claire shift, yet the pressure of Grey’s hand through her flesh remained.

There was something else too… another level of impossible… he could feel what Grey was doing to Claire, not as if it were happening to him, but as if he were watching it with his body.

Jamie started to rock inside Claire, sliding softly back and forth in her body.

Claire cried out, and from the angle and the force and that strange connection he now had with Claire, Jamie could tell John Grey was taking her arse.

She shouted with each thrust, wordless cries mixed with pleads for him to take her harder, deeper, faster. Split her open.

“Mine,” Grey growled. “Only mine.”

Jamie could tell Grey was cupping both her breasts, squeezing tight, tugging on her nipples and pinching nearly flat as she gave herself over to him.

“Yours, Master,” she spoke with a worshipful voice. “Only yours. Always.”

Jamie felt the burn of tears in his eyes and hated himself for it. Still, he remembered their rendezvous, their words passed in secret, of how someday, _one_ day, and children… was it wrong to mourn for a stolen future? Even if it had always been a lie.

Those long curls of hers were twisted and pulled back sharply.

He laid there still, listening to the two of them calling out to each other, _for_ each other. Jamie curled in on himself, aching. Trying to push away the sound of their voices and their feeling of their passionate coming together. He couldn’t though, which meant he also couldn’t force away the memories of the last month.

The first time he saw Claire, the sweetness in her eyes and the warmth he had felt when he’d taken her hand and helped her up.

He’d known she was special since the first time he laid eyes on her, known he’d wanted her with a want he’d yet to experience in all his life.

Claire had been clever and strong. She’d held herself like a queen, and in those weeks she’d worked at the construction site, he’d gotten to know her—at least he thought he’d had. They’d forged a bond strong enough for him to finally send Laoghaire away. In those small moments they’d shared, the truth was Jamie hadn’t just started to fall in love. He’d tumbled head first into it. Claire was the kind of woman he’d always wanted and he’d thought she’d wanted him.

“Master, Master,” Claire cried, spreading her legs. “Please.”

“What’s your desire?” Grey hissed.

“You know my heart as no one else,” Claire replied. “You know my desire.”

Jamie gasped for air, suddenly unable to breathe… but it wasn’t his breath being constricted, it was Claire’s. Grey’s hands were around her neck, constricting like a snake.

Then, there was another shift and suddenly, Jamie came nearly face to face with Grey’s cock, now nearly as big as Jamie’s head, pumping in and out, coming closer and closer to him with each thrust.

Beyond, the pressure on her throat let up and Claire was screaming for her master, to be filled with his seed. Jamie could feel Grey’s fingers in Claire’s mouth, puling her lips into what had to be a hideous mockery of a grin.

In that moment, Jamie simply gave in. He had no idea what else to do besides let it end quickly. He remembered the effect Grey’s ejaculate had had on him when he first swallowed it down. If he did it, at least he would be numb, unconscious. Jamie managed to wiggle forward to stretch his mouth wide enough to just wrap around the very tip of Grey’s cock, to dip his whole tongue into the slit and fuck it in and out.

The cream that had been left behind was enough to dull Jamie’s senses, turn all his thoughts soft, frayed.

“Say my name.” Grey’s words managed to make it through the the delirium.

“John,” Claire replied.

“No,” he growled, low and dark. “My true name.”

“Yes, yes, Master…” and the sound that followed was nothing like a name or a word or even a sound that Jamie had ever heard before, and yet he knew that’s what it was. John Grey’s _true_ name. A sound that wasn’t a sound, but was like the empty space between galaxies. Darkness. Nothingness. Primal, original fear.

And then, Jamie’s mouth was filled and he floated away, drowning in endless white.

. . .

Regretfully, Jamie awoke. He’d hoped he had died, though for a brief moment he’d wondered if if it had all been a strange, horrible dream. But when he breathed in, the pungent now familiar scent of Claire disavowed him of that thought. It had been real, and it still wasn’t over.

Something had changed though, Jamie was no longer constricted at all. He could stand to his feet, which he did, pulling up and buttoning his jeans and tugging down his t-shirt. He stumbled forward, his bare feet squelching on the moist fleshy floor.

Jamie squinted, trying to see deep into the cavernous abyss. There was _some_ light, coming from somewhere, though Jamie didn’t understand how. But there was a sallow, mirthless glow coming from what seemed to be swarms of groaning flies.

He stumbled on, not sure what else to do, when a voice echoed, startling him. “Who goes there?”

Jamie froze. “Hello?”

A face emerged through an unearthly light. “Frank Randall,” the face said, “And you are?”

“Jamie Fraser.”

“Sorry to meet you, Mr. Fraser,” the man said. He was dressed, though his clothes had become somewhat ragged, like a man out of the 1960s or 70s. For some reason, this unsettled him as much as anything else.

“Where are we?” Jamie asked. “Hell?”

“Or something like that.” Randall let out a cold laugh. “Walk with me. I’ll show you.”

What Jamie would see next would astound him… at first, it seemed only like endless flesh and those strange glowing flies, but then he heard it, from somewhere unseen, chilling screams and shrieks of agony. He wanted to give in, collapse to his knees, but what good would that do? Instead, he continued on, this Frank Randall at his side.

“Who… or what are they?”

“He’s a god,” Frank replied. “Perhaps. Or a demon. Something we don’t have a name for. And Claire, I mean, she is… _his,_ I reckon.”

Jamie remembered what he’d been taught about demons and the ones that followed them. “Like a witch?”

“An… unspeakably powerful witch.”

 _And yet,_ Jamie thought, _she served John Grey._ So how powerful did that mean _he was?_ Did it even matter now?

“It is time, I imagine,” Randall said. “To show you your fate, as it was once shown to me.”

Jamie followed Randall into the depth, that sinking feeling sinking more and more with each moist and sticky step.

The pained sounds grew louder and Jamie forced himself to ask Randall, “What is that?”

“You will come to your own understanding,” he replied. “As we all have. I will be here for you when you do.” Randall frowned, then clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Let’s go on.”

As they walked, the cries grew even louder and eventually, Jamie came upon the source.

A man, tall, broad, clad in a double breasted suit. Fused to this flesh wall, melting into it. He struggled uselessly to tear himself away as he shouted.

“For Christ sake, we must help him.” Jamie lurched forward to pull on the man, but Randall kept him at bay.

“It’s no use,” he said, softly. “We must go on.”

Jamie fought his instinct to help… perhaps Frank was wrong… perhaps, but Jamie did not think he was. He walked on.

The man in the double-breasted suit was far from alone.

This carnivorous, endless vagina was constructed from the most nightmarish material: human men, writhing and wailing, still clothed in the garments of their time, all in varying states of living decomposition. There were men in cowboy boots. Men with pioneer rough hands. A union soldier, a confederate solider. Tri-corn hats, redcoats and well-worn kilts. On and on and on and oh _God—_ chainmail… these were knights. Medieval knights with tear-stained half-faces.

“A way out,” Jamie’s voice cracked as he turned towards Randall. “There was a way in, there must be a way out.”

“And you’ll look for one. As we all have,” Randall said in a reassuring voice that was not at all reassuring.

Numb from the ever-building fear, Jamie continued on with heavy, pained steps.

Randall screamed and collapsed, his leg was cracking apart like pottery and then with a horrible sound, it exploded into a swarm of those horrible, glowing flies.

Jamie reached out to help, to drag Randall along with him, keep him from the fate of those before him.

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Randall said wretchedly and yet, resigned. “But I can go no farther. You must continue on alone.”

Jamie had never known himself to be a coward, but it was a cowards act to turn away from Randall now. Not because he was told to go on, but that the fear betrayed in his eyes was too much to endure. He had nothing left to give.

He walked away.

Jamie Fraser walked and walked and walked for an unknown amount of time—hours, years, centuries,—until his legs ached and burned with a pain that nearly crippled him.

His knees wobbled, giving out beneath him and he fell forward, bracing himself against… the end?

Jamie had done it. He’d walked all the way to wherever this living hell ended and now what was there… to walk back… to lie down, to sleep, to hope for death… because perhaps some of these men had died? Perhaps…

“My son,” came a low, graveled voice. The words weren’t in English and yet, Jamie could understand them somehow. “How I wished we would never meet and yet I have waited for you.”

The man, or what was left of him, managed to partially pull his rotting hand away with a horrid squelch and he laid it warm and wet against Jamie’s cheek.

“Who are ye?” he asked.

“I am,” the wretched creature said. “The first. I am… Adam.”

Jamie sank to his knees, shuddering, no longer able to stand, the weight of his reality imploding inside him. “And he is…?” Jamie’s words shook. “John Grey… the one who lured me here…?”

The buzzing of the flies grew louder and louder, to a near deafening volume, and yet over the horrid sound of chaos, Jamie could still make out Adam’s answer.

_The Serpent._


End file.
